


for you, because of you

by bluebeholder



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Castiel/Dean Winchester Anniversary, Eventual Romance, Filling Fanfiction Gaps, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 18:20:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8067847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebeholder/pseuds/bluebeholder
Summary: Eight times Dean and Castiel almost make it work, and one time they do.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Destiel anniversary, friends! 
> 
> I had to post something for this momentous occasion, so here: nine short snippets, one for each season. Eight are for seasons past and one is speculation on what's to come. Half will be posted now, the other half some time early this afternoon.
> 
> Enjoy!

**1\. Meeting**

“I don’t know who he thinks he is,” Dean says to Bobby later, when they’re sitting safe at the kitchen table in Bobby’s house. “Like…who does something like that? It was like a bad horror movie!”

“I remember you bein’ pretty scared, boy,” Bobby says. He takes a swig of beer and shrugs. “Eh, it’s not the worst thing in the world. So angels are real. So what?”

Dean scrubs a hand through his hair. He stares at the bottle in his hand, still mostly full, dripping condensation onto the table. “So the first one I met turned out to be a total dick.”

Bobby laughs soberly. “Not everything they’re cracked up to be.”

“I don’t even know what I was hoping for,” Dean says. He lets go of the bottle, wipes his hand on his shirt. He leans back in the chair and folds his arms. “Don’t even know why I’m disappointed.”

The old hunter finishes off his beer and sighs. “We got whole books dedicated to angels. Lore, tradition, the whole Bible, even. ‘An angel of the Lord’ is supposed to be…”

“Something else,” Dean says. Not a man in a tan trenchcoat, with mussed hair and all too human blue eyes. Not a creature whose wings are mere shadows that flicker in and out on the wall of a barn. An angel is supposed to be something different.

They sit in silence for a while. Sam is on his way. The briefing when he gets here will be…fun, Dean’s sure. And by “fun” he means “really shitty”. Sam’s going to have a million questions. Dean would bet he asked this Castiel most of them, and he’d also bet that Castiel didn’t actually answer any. 

“So he saved you from Hell,” Bobby says abruptly. 

“Yeah,” Dean says. He thinks for a second about Hell, and then puts it out of his mind again. He won’t go there. He can’t, not yet. Maybe not ever. “He did.”

Bobby grunts and shakes his head. “Just can’t quite believe it. After all this time, the angels show themselves to save your sorry skin.”

“Believe me, Bobby, I don’t get it either,” Dean says. He picks up his beer and takes a long, bitter drink. This creature, this Castiel, is the one who saved Dean from Hell. Who told Dean in no uncertain terms that he was the one “who gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition”. If there wasn’t a handprint burnt into Dean’s shoulder, he wouldn’t believe it.

“Wish he’d have answered more questions,” Bobby says. “There’s things we oughta know.”

“Doubt that’s the last time we see him,” Dean says. “Says he wants to work with us.”

“With you,” Bobby says, gentle emphasis on that last word. 

That’s what Dean just doesn’t understand. Castiel wants Dean to be the Righteous Man, even though Dean isn’t the kind of person who should be anywhere near an angel. But there it is. Castiel believes that Dean deserves to be saved. 

**2\. Armageddon**

Castiel is with Dean when the world ends.

He should be with his siblings. He should be with them, preparing to be the last bastion against Lucifer’s ascent. He should be with his garrison, sword in hand, ready to defend Creation. That is his place in the grand design. It is where God intended for Castiel to be.

Instead, like his brother, he rebels.

He follows Dean down into that cemetery, ready to die. The last thing he sees as Lucifer destroys him is Dean’s face. Even as his very atoms rip apart, Castiel cannot regret what he has done. If he has given Dean even half a chance, then he has done everything right. He cannot, will not, regret it. And then there is nothing. The world is empty and he is gone from it.

And then he is back, returned to life. He cannot explain it, though he is sure that his suspicions are at minimum highly probable. Dean kneels in the middle of the cemetery, beaten and broken. Castiel feels something lurch within him. 

When he approaches, Dean looks up at him, confused and afraid and alone. “Cas, you’re alive?” he says, and his voice is small.

There’s nothing Castiel can say. Seeing Dean like this pains Castiel so greatly that he can hardly bear it. He reaches out and touches the hunter’s forehead. In an instant, Dean is healed. 

For a moment, there is silence. Dean climbs slowly to his feet. His shoulders bow as if the whole weight of Creation rests on them. He is still afraid, and Castiel honestly cannot blame him. “Cas. Are you God?” Dean asks.

Castiel cannot suppress a smile at the absurdity of this situation. “That’s a nice compliment,” he says, for lack of anything better to be said.

He brings Bobby back. He does not want to speak to Dean because he does not know what to say. But there is a moment, before they drive away, when Bobby is making phone calls and he and Dean are left alone. 

“Your brother has done a great thing,” Castiel says, and he knows it isn’t enough, but what else is there to say? What can he say?

“He’s gone,” Dean says blankly. 

He has said not thirty words since Castiel healed him.

Castiel wants to reach out, but he does not know how. He is not good at these human things. He has tried, and it has never worked. 

Dean slides his hands into his pockets. His gaze has not moved from the spot on the ground where the gate to Hell was opened. Where Sam fell. “I am sorry,” Castiel says softly. 

“Not your fault,” Dean mumbles.

“I know,” Castiel says. Hesitant, he lays a hand upon Dean’s shoulder. 

“I just want him back,” Dean whispers. His eyes are wet and red. 

“I wish I could do more to help you,” Castiel says.

Dean’s hand shakes as he wipes away unshed tears. “You’re here, Cas,” he says. “That’s enough.”

**3\. Betrayal**

“Son of a bitch!” 

Dean punches the motel room wall so hard his hand immediately hurts. His body aches and his head is pounding so hard he can barely think. He can’t think about this. About Cas…about what Cas has done. He turned out to be a traitor, working with Crowley, trying to open the door to Purgatory…

“Hey, hey, hey!” Sam grabs Dean’s arm before he can move to punch the wall again. “We’ve got to focus! We need to think about what to do from here.”

“Kill Crowley,” Dean mutters. He tears his arm away from Sam’s grip. “Shut down the opening of Purgatory. What else are we supposed to do?”

Sam pulls Dean around to face him. “You need to get yourself under control,” Sam says. “We don’t have time for you to have a nervous breakdown!”

Dean takes a step back, shoulders pressing against the wall. He presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, hard enough that he sees stars. “I know, Sam.”

“I need you, Dean,” Sam says, a moment later. “We…it’s just us now. Us and Bobby, but there’s no one else.”

“’Cause Cas went and betrayed us,” Dean says bitterly. He crashes down on the bed, springs screaming in protest. “He’s an angel, Sam. What are we supposed to do?”

Sam sits down more sedately on the other bed. “This isn’t the first time we’ve fought an angel,” he says. “And the last few times, we won.”

“We can’t kill him,” Dean says with total certainty. He stares at the nicotine-stained ceiling, thinking about Cas. About how they were “Team Free Will” once upon a time. About all the times they’d fought together, side by side. About the times that Cas had sacrificed himself for Dean. About sigils drawn in blood. Lights flashing in a barn and hands pulling Dean free from Hell. “We just can’t kill him.”

“Are you saying that because you think he’s invincible and we really can’t beat him, or are you saying that because it’s Cas?” Sam asked quietly. 

“Screw you,” Dean says, but his heart isn’t in it. Sam gets it, for whatever reason, and he’s never made a thing out of it because…Dean’s not sure why. But Sam doesn’t bother Dean about whatever this thing with Cas is. Dean trusts Cas as much as he trusts Sam. Or. Well. He trusted Cas as much as he trusts Sam. 

“We’ll start with Crowley,” Sam says, and there he goes off into some kind of plan that Dean is sure would make a lot more sense if he was actually listening. 

He’s totally in his own world when Sam says, “Hey, Dean. Earth to Dean!”

“I’m listening,” Dean grumbles. He looks at his brother.

Sam rests his elbows on his knees, hands folded almost as if in prayer. “The gist of it is that we’ve got to stop Cas,” he says. “Whatever it takes.”

“Yeah,” Dean says. The handprint on his shoulder burns. “Whatever it takes.”

**4\. Missing**

Cas is gone, and something in Dean went with him.

There’s a tan trenchcoat in the trunk of the Impala. Dean looks at it every time he opens the trunk, and every time he looks at it his heart aches. It’s water-stained and blood-stained and old and gross and awful and Dean just can’t make himself get rid of it. He should. It’s not healthy, keeping something like that around. He knows as much and Bobby said as much three weeks after Castiel’s body walked into the reservoir. 

But if he gets rid of that coat, he feels like the hole in him will just get bigger and uglier. He’s barely holding it together as it is—trying to keep Sam sane and moving, find a way to kill Leviathans, hunting ghosts—and if he gets rid of that coat he thinks he might just break. 

He can’t define to himself why, exactly, because that might also tear him in half. 

“He’s not coming back, Dean,” Sam says one tired night in a motel room. 

“I know,” Dean says, setting down the gun he’s cleaning. 

Sam, huddled on the bed like blankets can protect him from things that only exist in his head, watches Dean closely. “Then why do you still have his coat in the car?”

“I don’t know,” Dean says, and picks up the gun again. 

“It’s not healthy—” Sam starts.

Dean cuts him off with a snap. “I know that, and it’s real rich coming out of your mouth, Sammy!”

“I’m just worried about you.”

“Stop worrying,” Dean says, and ignores everything else Sam says until his brother falls into a restless sleep.

It’s the witching hour when Dean lets himself out of the room quietly, slipping out the creaky door and into the moonlit parking lot. The Impala is parked on the far side of the lot, a minor bit of misdirection meant to keep casual watchers off their tail. His boots crunch on the loose rocks on the asphalt. The trunk opens silently, and for a second Dean just leans against it, staring at the coat lying limp in front of him.

He picks it up, almost surprised by how light it is in his hands. He turns it over, feeling the strained seams and frayed edges. It’s limp from being constantly worn and never washed. It doesn’t feel anything like Castiel.

Dean slides down to sit on the asphalt, leaning on the car. Feeling strangely reckless, he presses his face against the coat. It might not feel like Cas, but the faint smell of ozone lingers in the fibers of the coat, a reminder of the hole in the world where Cas used to be. Dean wants to cry, but he doesn’t. 

He tangles his fingers in the coat and looks up at the sky. It’s half missing under the light pollution, but he can still see some of the brighter stars. They’re almost blue. Almost the color of Cas’ eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**5\. Purgatory**

Castiel runs. 

As an immortal being, he already has a skewed perception of time, but in the infinity of gray that makes up Purgatory, he loses all track of how long he has been here. He fights when he has to and flees when he is outnumbered. When he stops to rest, he tries not to think. If he thinks, he might give up.

When he does think, he tries to remember the good things. The feeling of sun on his skin. The sight of children laughing and running on a playground, innocent and carefree. A smile, warm and trusting. It’s sad to say, but Castiel doesn’t have very many good memories. The longer he’s in Purgatory, the more he thinks about that smile. It’s the only thing that keeps him moving. It’s the only thing that gives him something to live for.

Just to be safe, he avoids thinking too hard about the owner of the smile. That’s a path Castiel just doesn’t feel like going down. It seems…unwise.

He’s on a riverbank, taking a moment to breathe and decide his next move, washing his hands in the frigid water, when he hears—

“Cas!” 

His heart stops. “Dean,” he says, the word falling out of his mouth unwillingly. He should have run at that moment, but he didn’t.

Dean’s coming down the slope to him, filthy and bloody and radiant. There it is, the smile that’s kept Castiel going for so long, and then Dean’s arms are around him and he’s paralyzed. 

They talk and he tries to explain. He tries to make what he’s done make sense to Dean, but the hunter just won’t listen. The vampire might be abrasive but at least he’s listening. Castiel wants to run, but now that he’s back beside Dean, he just can’t. He takes the words like a punch—“I prayed to you, Cas, every night!”—and tells Dean about the Leviathans. 

He’s not going to go, when Dean first tells him the plan to get them out of Purgatory, but then Dean says the magic words. “I need you!” he says, and right then Castiel falls. If someone asked him later when he realized just why he couldn’t do anything but listen to Dean, he would tell them that this is the exact moment. It’s a realization that is less surprise and more a searing, dull ache. 

Castiel, an angel of the Lord, is in love with Dean Winchester, a mortal hunter. 

He buries that epiphany and pretends it doesn’t exist, especially knowing what he plans to do when they reach the gate. He thinks that the vampire—Benny—knows. He doesn’t say a word. Benny doesn’t like Castiel, and it’s a mutual feeling. Castiel savors every second at Dean’s side, memorizes every line of Dean’s smile, every curve of his face. He gives Dean what little comfort he can, says nothing about his plan. 

He’s not climbing out of Purgatory, and he’ll be damned if he forgets Dean again.

**6\. Fallen**

Dean might have prayed to Castiel every night in Purgatory, but now every night Castiel prays to Dean. It’s not prayers with an “Our Father” and an “Amen”, but Castiel thinks it’s prayer all the same. He sleeps on benches and inside bus shelters, underneath cars and bridges. He runs from angels. He doesn’t want to see any of his siblings ever again. 

He throws himself on the mercy of strangers. Humans are a remarkably charitable bunch. Once he is given some water. Another time, a man buys him a hamburger. It is a trying time, but Castiel holds himself together philosophically. He focuses on moving forward, putting one foot in front of the other. He walks for miles, until his legs give out and he is forced to rest.

When he rests, he thinks of Dean. Of green eyes and a warm smile and hands that refuse to let Castiel go, no matter how hard Castiel tries to run. He watches cars go by and wonders if Dean would like them. He wonders where Dean is now, if he’s all right, if Sam’s all right. Heaven is empty and the world is turned upside down. Somewhere out there, Castiel’s one constant has to be alive. 

Eventually, Castiel scrapes together enough money to purchase old, but decent clothes from a thrift store. He applies for a job at a gas station. It isn’t much, but he’s drawing a paycheck. He uses vague memories of hearing Dean and Sam talk about credit card fraud to set up a fake bank account. The managers don’t question it. They don’t pay much attention to “Steve”, which is precisely how Castiel wants it. He’s quiet and polite and so no one questions why he takes the all-night shifts and frequent all-day shifts, too.

At night, lying on that tiny cot in the janitor’s closet, Castiel still thinks about Dean. He wonders if everything is all right. It’s not like Castiel would know. He’s run away from it all. The only thing from his old life that he still wants isn’t even a thing. It’s a person. 

He’s human now, aging already evident in the lines of exhaustion of his face. He wonders what Dean would think of him, if they ever met again. He’s not sure he wants to know. If he isn’t useful to Dean, will Dean even want him? Sure, Castiel loves Dean with all his being, but he’s not sure Dean feels the same way. Castiel would give anything for Dean, but after all he’s done, he sincerely doubts that Dean wants anything at all from him.

“Dean, don’t come looking for me,” Castiel whispers one night to the ceiling. It’s the middle of the night and he can’t sleep. “I’m not worth it.”

The next morning, a glossy black ’67 Chevy Impala pulls up out front. Castiel can’t stop himself from staring when Dean walks in the door. He thought he might have moved on from Dean.

He was wrong.

 **7\. Nemesis**

Dean’s a demon and could literally not care any less. It’s like his conscience went out back and died. Or, wait, no: it’s more like he took his conscience out back and shot it dead. Yeah, that works. 

He has no inhibitions anymore. No worries, no cares. He does what he wants. Sure, he’s got black eyes, but the chicks think it’s real sexy. Crowley’s impressively uptight and just about the most annoying person on the planet, but Dean tolerates him. Maybe he’ll eventually get himself together long enough to kill off Crowley and make himself king of Hell, but that’s a long way off. There’s still a lot of fun to have up here on Earth.

“You ever think about your friends, Dean?” Crowley drawls one night over drinks.

“What friends? They’re all dead!” Dean says with a loud laugh. 

Crowley rolls his eyes and stirs his martini. “I’m not dead,” he says pettishly.

Dean blows a sardonic kiss across the table. “Sure, sure,” he says. “What friends do you mean, anyway? Thought it was just you and me against the world?”

“Your brother?”

“Oh, that’s rich,” Dean says. He grins. “Sammy, let me go. That’s what the note said. Bet he will.”

Crowley wrinkles his nose. “Do you really think Moose will just let you run around like some kind of loose cannon?”

The sickly neon lights of the bar glitter on the sticky table. “He’ll do that if he knows what’s good for him,” Dean says.

“Certainly ominous,” Crowley says. “But what about the angel?”

“Ex-angel,” Dean says. “He’s human. He’s about as effective as a potato.”

Crowley smiles. “You mean that?”

Dean tosses back the rest of his drink. He wishes he could still get drunk, but at least he can still taste the alcohol. “Look, Crowley. Drop it,” he says. 

“Very well,” Crowley says, leaning back against his chair. His smile is smug, like he made some kind of point. Dean snarls, suddenly and unreasonably angry. Crowley holds up his hands, eyebrows cocked. “Touched a nerve, did I?”

Dean doesn’t reply, just gets up and walks away, letting his chair fall as he goes. He ignores the woman asking him to pay and just keeps going, out through the door into the cool outside air. Yeah, Crowley touched some kind of nerve, and that nerve’s name is “Castiel”. He doesn’t feel guilty about anything he’s done since he changed, but when he thinks about the damn angel he feels guilty for just existing. Cas would be ashamed and Dean knows it and it makes his skin crawl.

“Go screw yourself, angel,” Dean mutters, kicking a rock across the parking lot. “Get out of my head.” If anyone’s looking for him, it’s not going to be Sam. It’s going to be Cas. Sam will think Dean’s a lost cause. Cas will be stubborn and won’t just let Dean go. 

There’s a small but incredibly vocal part of Dean that really, really wants Cas to find Dean.

**8\. Okay**

“Hey,” Dean says, as they drive back toward the bunker, where Sam waits with some kind of potential solution for Amara. “Um.”

“Yes, Dean?” Cas says. He wonders what else Dean has to say. He’s been unusually effusive on this little drive, telling Cas things that sound like they came straight from the heart.

“I wasn’t done,” Dean says, dropping the phone in the cup holder. “Sam cut me off.”

Cas watches Dean. “Well?”

A long moment of silence fills the car. Dean doesn’t look away from the road, and Cas really can’t blame him for not wanting to make eye contact. “I’ve never thanked you,” he finally says. “For everything you’ve done.”

“There’s no need—” Cas starts, but Dean cuts him off.

“You gotta let me finish,” he says. “You keep saving my ass, even when God knows I don’t deserve it. I wouldn’t be here without you. So…thanks.”

“You’re welcome, Dean,” Cas murmurs. He looks out the window, at the fading green. “I should thank you, too.”

Dean’s voice is sharp with surprise. “For what?”

“For letting me be there for you,” Cas says simply. He can’t put into words the years of feeling he has, but he can try. “For letting me help. It’s…I don’t know, Dean. But thank you.”

“Not a problem, Cas,” Dean says quietly. He’s quiet for a moment, then chuckles. “Pair of saps, that’s you and me.”

Cas looks back at Dean. For the first time, he sees a man whose age is telling on him. His expression is weary, but still impossibly determined. Dean will see through whatever solution Sam has come up with, no matter what that solution might be. “Everything will be all right,” Cas says impulsively. He closes his mouth tight, refusing to let anything else slip out.

“Glad you think so. Someone’s gotta keep some optimism around here,” Dean says. He glances at Cas and raises his eyebrows. “You got something else to say, buddy?”

Yes, Cas definitely has something else to say. He’s not really sure where to start, and he’s very sure that this isn’t at all the time for such a confession. “Assuming that the world doesn’t end tonight,” he says slowly, feeling out his words with great caution, “I would wish to speak with you on a matter that is of great importance to me.”

“Anything, Cas,” Dean says. He looks at Cas again, and it’s all the angel can do not to just tell Dean to stop the car. “You sure it’s gotta wait?”

“I’m sure,” Cas says. 

“Then it’s a date,” Dean says, and Cas tries not to let his stomach flip over. It’s amazing, even with his Grace back, he still finds himself reacting in an all-too-human way to the smallest things.

“It’s a date,” Cas repeats. He looks back at the road and wonders what will be waiting for them at the end of it. He has an awful feeling that they will never get to have this “date”.

**9\. Together**

This is the first time they’ve had a chance to relax in a week. Things have quieted down. No one has heard from Amara or Chuck, Crowley has gone AWOL (and no one’s crying over that), Rowena is off working on creating a new coven, Mary is settling into modern life, and Sam is back with them in one piece. They have a chance to breathe at last.

Tonight, they’re in a motel, as usual. They’re an eight-hour drive away from the bunker, and by general consensus they stopped to let everyone catch a break. Tomorrow night they’ll be home. For now, though, things are all right. Mary is reading Wikipedia articles, lying on one of the beds, while Sam sleeps the sleep of the just on the other. Dean’s been just sitting around, too tired to do anything but too wired to sleep. And Castiel just feels twitchy, sitting across from Dean at the tiny Formica-topped table. 

Suddenly, Dean gets up. Mary looks up from the laptop, but Dean shakes his head. “Just goin’ outside, Mom,” he says, quiet, to avoid waking Sam. He looks at Cas and his heart skips a beat. “You wanna come along?”

“Of course,” Castiel says, and follows Dean outside. 

It’s the evening of September 18th. The last vestige of summer is still here, making the air warm and sending fireflies blinking across the parking lot. It’s beautiful and peaceful. Leaning on the railing, Dean thinks that things might just be going right for once. He steels himself and turns to Cas. “So. Uh. Hey. You remember what we talked about before…”

Castiel’s mouth is dry. “The date?”

Dean’s smile is lopsided. “Yeah. That. Is now a better time?”

“There won’t be a better one,” Castiel says, returning the smile as best he can. 

“So. What was it you wanted to say?”

Castiel thinks for half a second about chickening out and running. But no. Dean deserves better. “I…Dean, I wanted to express the depth of my feelings for you,” he says in a rush. 

Dean’s heart is pounding like he’s a dumb teenager with a crush. “Oh,” he says eloquently.

“I just…whether they’re reciprocated or not, Dean, I…” Castiel trails off, not sure what else to say.

“Okay,” Dean says, and dashes a hand through his hair. “Okay. I…yeah, Cas, I know what you mean. I think that’s what I was trying to say, before…”

Castiel’s heart sinks. “Familial feelings, then.”

“No!” Dean exclaims, shaking his head violently. “Cas, I…I’ve said it before. I need you.”

Castiel’s suddenly glad that Metatron downloaded all human media into his head. He understands what Dean’s trying to say. “Dean, I…” He hesitates, then plunges in. “I love you.”

Dean’s odd little smile blossoms into a real grin. “I know,” he says, “I love you too.”

Finally, finally, they kiss each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the happy ending. I can dream, right? :)
> 
> Thank you for reading.


End file.
